My throat burned as he wrapped his hand around it, his grip firm but not crushing. Cold steel pressed against my neck, the knife. I gasped, my bag slipping from my shoulder. It hit the ground with a dull thud, spilling open, and my book tumbled out. He glanced down, bent, picked it up, and flipped it open. His eyes skimmed the page. Then his mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, a dark smirk, like he knew exactly what I had been reading. And worse, he saw the notes. My handwriting in the margins, messy lines of ink: God, I wish someone would ruin me like this. I shouldn’t like it, but I do. Imagine the knife on me instead. Heat exploded in my face. I wanted the ground to swallow me. His eyes lifted back to mine, and I couldn’t breathe…… I was just a college freshman, lost in dark romance novels and fantasies of forbidden love. But my life took a deadly turn when I stumbled upon a mafia boss's secret in a dimly lit alley. Little did I know, the killer I witnessed would become my professor, and my obsession would become my downfall. Now, I'm trapped in a game of cat and mouse, where the stakes are higher than I ever imagined. My obsession grows with every passing moment, and I'm forced to confront the shadows within myself. But not everything is what it seems. What begins as an obsession may turn into something far more dangerous….. like revenge.
View MoreIt has been four days since I last saw Zander. Since we only have psychology on Mondays, I haven’t seen him.Four days.And yet, my mind refuses to leave that office.The way he touched me like I was nothing but his toy, the way he looked into my eyes as if he owned me. And then, just like that he walked away. No explanation, no warning, not even a word meant for me.My chest burned with anger every time I replayed it. Who does he think he is, using me and then tossing me aside like I’m disposable?But beneath the anger, something darker sits. Embarrassment and shame. Because the truth I don’t want to admit, not even to myself, is that my body craves him. I wake in the middle of the night, heat pooling between my thighs, remembering the rough drag of his tongue, the way his voice sounded when he whispered filth in my ear.I hate him.And I want him.And the mix of both is tearing me apart.I’ve tried to distract myself, bury my head in books, and focus on shifts at the bar. But nothin
Zander lifted his head, his mouth glistening as he pulled his tongue from between my legs. His eyes didn’t move away from mine, sharp and heavy like he could see the fear swimming in them. My chest rose and fell in shaky bursts, but he looked calm, almost amused, like my panic entertained him.He ran his palm down my trembling thigh, his touch slow and deliberate. The warmth of his hand made my skin prickle. Before I could breathe, he leaned forward and cupped one of my breasts, squeezing until I gasped. His thumb brushed over my nipple, rubbing it gently at first, then harder until it ached in a way I didn’t know how to handle. His other hand slid lower, pressing against my clit, his fingers teasing the spot he had just left wet with his tongue.“Still trembling,” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous. “But your body… It’s begging for me.”My breath hitched. I wanted to deny it, to scream that he was wrong, but my body betrayed me. Heat spread through me, my thighs clamping together
Monday morning came faster than I wanted. I hadn’t slept properly since that night in the alley. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the blood. I saw the knife, and saw him.I walked into my psychology lecture room with my chest tight, praying today would feel normal. But when the new professor turned to face the class, my stomach dropped, and my whole body went numb.It was him.The man who stabbed someone right in front of me. The man who held a knife to my throat and told me to run.He stood there in a black suit, calm and untouchable, as though none of it had ever happened.“Good morning,” he said, his voice smooth and collected. “I’m Professor Zander. I’ll be taking you through this course for the semester.”The classroom buzzed with whispers. Girls giggled softly, already swooning over the new professor’s looks. The guys leaned back, unimpressed. But no one, no one saw what I saw. His hands. His eyes. That night.I sat frozen, my notebook open but blank, my pen shaking in my grip
“Why the fuc—”The words in the book made my eyes widen. My gaze darted across the page, faster, almost afraid of what I’d find next.He taps the tip of the gun on my mouth, effectively cutting me off. The rest of my words dissipate as he slides the gun across my lips as if he is painting them with lipstick.My fingers tightened on the book, breath catching in my throat.“Suck,” he orders, his tone deepening with finality. Closing my eyes against more tears, I open my mouth and let him guide the gun between my teeth. I squeeze my lids tighter as I twirl my tongue over the cold metal, cringing from the nasty taste.My skin heated. My pulse thudded in my ears.“Such a good girl,” he says, pulling the dripping gun out, a trail of saliva following until it snaps.I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, the words clinging to me, staining me.My entire body locks when I feel the cool metal slide against my clit. I flinch against the foreign touch of an incredibly dangerous weapon.“One bottle
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